when i’m 5

On the eve of my son’s birthday, this is the final installment of “When I’m Five Years Old…” I had a half dozen others I could have used, illustrating things as lofty and disparate as picking up furniture, eating tacos, befriending giant trees, racing bullets and jumping on one foot up to the ceiling. Yet I believe this doodle encompasses all his goals of things to do/be/have when he turns five rather nicely. It gives voice to his greatest desire and my greatest dread — to be grown up as quickly as is humanly possible. Or faster.

When Jon was well into toddlerhood, I started longing for the days of his infancy. Of cuddles and cooing and discovery — and perhaps most importantly, immobility. He’s well on his way to becoming too fast for me, and long ago surpassed me on overall levels of energy.

However, as my 5-year-old lunges toward the future with each uninhibited step sprint, I realize how much of this phase of his life I will miss: the forming of opinions and independent thoughts, while still clinging close to the things Daddy and Papa likes best; trying on words and phrases — sometimes clever, other times defiant, occasionally profane; and beginnings and new adventures — school, friendships, sports, sleepovers, movies, reading — all of the things he’ll never do or experience again for the first time.

I avoid pondering how old I’ll be when my son (40 years my junior) is 8, 9, 10, in high school, college, married, a father. As one who is prone to worry, this does no one any good. I want to enjoy today for today and this age for this age. Not looking ahead in angst, not reminiscing with regret, but being present and learning how to hold and lead and guide while slowly letting go, so Jon can learn to hold and lead and guide himself.

I’m in no hurry for you to grow up, son. I hold these past five years in my heart, but hold my gaze on your path — repeatedly amazed that I get to watch every step and stumble and sprint that you take.

More than any other parental duty, bath time has changed the most in my nearly five years of dadhood. What started as a quiet time of bonding has gone through quite a few drastic evolutions. There was the move from the kitchen sink to the bathroom; from an infant bath bin to the inflatable duck, to roaming unfettered in the tub; from playing peek-a-boo to silly sing-a-longs to tidal wave-sized splashfests.

Nowadays bath time mostly involves feats of superhuman ability: trying to jump into the tub; attempting to stand on the rim; repeated leaps to grasp the towel hanging from the shower curtain rod. And most frequently, the desire to grow gills, stay underwater as long as possible, and give me tiny heart attacks every night.

Jon’s always been a bit of a fish-in-water — a daring-do of aquatic proportions — though sometimes a bit reckless. Yet thankfully there’ve been no poolside cracked heads or broken tailbone shower slips or (knock on porcelain) underwater catastrophes. Truthfully, he’s much more likely to puncture a butt check from the stew of toys he’s always swimming in.

It’s a wonder he can hold anything underwater (breath or otherwise) amongst his maritime menagerie. I made an infographic a while back about bath toys and how to decide when to clean them or throw them out. Nonetheless, our tub has become what amounts to a playroom annex. Actual bath toys are a rarity. Instead, you can find plastic drinking cups and serving utensils, magnetic letters and musical instruments, dinosaurs, action figures, matchbox cars, Happy Meal toys… and on rare occasions, even a washcloth.

I think the next time he’s under for a hundred million minutes, I’ll thin out the flotsam (or is it jetsam?) so we can both breathe (or not) a bit easier.

You’ve got to hand it to LEGO. They were a pretty popular toy when I was a kid, but nothing to lose your mind over. Yet somewhere along the way, they went from being huge piles of plastic bricks you made stuff from to elaborate kits with bazillions of teeny, tiny pieces branded to every pop culture property you can imagine. Okay, there were kits back in the olden days, too — but not like they have now. And my son (and nearly every other boy I know, and quite a few girls) are ravenous for them.

We’re at a point right now where Jon’s fingers and dexterity are still not quite developed enough to put together the bazillions of teeny, tiny pieces on his own. Combine that with my too-large fingers and too-old eyes, and building LEGO sets are not my favorite father/son activity.

And never mind how OCD I get thinking about all of these kits and their bazillions of teeny, tiny pieces being assembled once, played with a few times, falling apart piece-by-piece, and eventually ending up all mixed together in the same box… never to be re-assembled the same way again. AUGH! I’m all for free-form creativity, but if we’re gonna shell out the bucks for the kit, and go through the trouble to configure these things, can’t we just dip them in hot glue, throw them on a shelf and call it a day?

Alas, no. That isn’t the way it works. And by “it,” I mean the mind of an almost-5-year-old. Or perhaps the sinister machinations of the LEGO necromancers. Either way, I don’t stand a chance..

It’s no secret that the struggle with our 4-year-old and food has been long, frustrating and fraught with many, many carbs. As with a lot of kids his age, tastes change as frequently as the Power Rangers’ uniforms. Sometimes it’s Banana Week, other times Apple Week. But it’s almost nearly never an Anything Green Week — which is surprising since green has been his favorite color since he could tell us so.

Yet as we near his fifth birthday, in addition to the personal goals, the promises are starting to pile on as well. Thanks to a book we recently read, Jon now knows that broccoli gives you gas, which elicited the expected glee (and gas). Seeing an opportunity to encourage some veggie digestion, I played up how fun it would be to eat broccoli and all the smelly farts he would have. Being my well-trained son, he of course took it to the next level, proclaiming…

As long as he’s eating healthy, I suppose I can wear a gas mask during dinner. But I’m not holding my breath.

As I mentioned in my first installment, Jon’s list of things he wants when he turns five is exhaustive and exhausting. In addition to things he wants to be (taller) and have (all manner of toys), there are things he wants to experience. Things that are well above what’s appropriate for his age. He claims he’s not afraid of anything (except for getting shots, going into a darkened room alone, biting spiders and vegetables) — and I’m proud when he’s my brave, little toaster. But I’m not ready for him to be 100% fearless yet. He’s got stuff to learn, limits to experience, dangers to fully comprehend. Like cyborg assassins from the future.

SPOILER ALERT! THIS IS NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. Stay tuned for more sequels to “When I’m five years old…”

On your way out of the theater, leave a comment telling us what movies well above their age range your little ones are clamoring to see. Or ones you saw long before you were ready.

It’s hard to wrap my head around it, but in just a few weeks I will be the father of a 5-year-old. The time seems to have raced past (oftentimes knocking me on my ass), but of course for our little big boy, it can’t go fast enough. Ever since Jon understood he was a certain number and that there were other numbers higher than his, he’s longed to be higher, bigger, older, faster… and just all around more. As if that were even possible.

Yet as he’s gotten closer to his quinquennial anniversary on Earth, the plans Jon has made for when that day arrives have grown more specific, more elaborate, and good god, more frequent. So between now and his birthday, I’ll be randomly posting a sampling of the things our ambitious boy has declared he will do/be/have when he turns five years old.

But wait, there’s more! Stay tuned for further installments of “When I’m five years old…”